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 Aug 2017 Summer Edmonds
Nicole S
Take a look at me.

Wonder how I got here.

No, really- wonder,
don't assume,
because maybe that's humanity's
biggest problem.
Everybody thinks they're smart enough
to tell the story just by looking at its cover.

I am white. I am so white it's painful,
so pale I know the frustration
of never having found a foundation
in my color,
of having to settle,
of being too much of an inconvenience
to make a shade for.
But there is privilege in this;
there is no denying that,
none whatsoever,
and please know:  I am not denying anything.  
I can't.  It is true.
My privilege is skin deep,
bone deep,
inescapable and ever evident,
but it did not get me here today.
Not entirely.

Because no matter how white I am,
my soul has never fit in.
It must be a motley of colors.
I am so white,
yet I'm not white enough-
eating alone and wearing the wrong clothes,
unable to read music
because we couldn't afford piano lessons,
and now that we have the money for birthday parties
no one will ever come.

I am ten shades less tan
than the preferred caucasian
and they will never, ever let me forget it.

I am judged the moment someone sees my family
because suddenly, the puzzle pieces must fit-
that's why she's successful,
she's a rich white girl-
except fortunate parents doesn't automatically
mean you get everything,
doesn't mean I didn't do chores,
doesn't ever mean I got paid for A's
or that college help was guaranteed.

I had to earn it.  
A's were expected, chores a duty,
allowances non-existent.
I fought for my success and only then
was I promised assistance
to get through college without drowning in bills,
yet even then
I still had six figures to consider
and weeks' worth of scholarship papers
just to make it out with anything to my name.
Privilege was present,
but privilege was not the reason
I won enough scholarships
to make it through.
I worked.
(It is possible for a white woman to work,
as much as I've heard that it isn't.)

My skin won't tell you that I've suffered,
quite the opposite.
My skin won't admit the times
that I pulled at it, hated it,
the days I wanted to make my pallor permanent
and the day gooseflesh trembled
beneath a blade.
It can't tell you about the tears
or the panic attacks
or the abandonment or depression or inexplicable grief
for joy I never knew,
belonging I never experienced,
and privilege that could not protect me from assault
or hatred,
because most of you wouldn't be listening anyway.

I promise,
there are reasons for my self-loathing.

But you won't know it,
won't even realize it exists as a subplot,
if you refuse to open my book
and learn my story
because my cover is white.

You won't realize that
I am scared to let my friends meet my family.
You won't know I've lost friends after they have.

You won't know that I care,
that I'm angry too,
so furious my teeth are cracking
but I can't say a word.
I am not supposed to.
I have been scolded for it.

Everyone says
not to judge a book by its cover,
yet they still do,
tossing novels aside every day
because their binding is displeasing.
Maybe some of the authors before me
wrote horrible stories,
but you stand to discover an unexpected favorite
if you can give others a chance.

And you stand to find a fellow motleyed soul
by opening that shiny new book you can't trust,
don't want to trust,
and testing the waters of the first delicate page.
I was terrified to post this; my friend finally talked me into it. She said people needed to hear it, that I needed to say it. Before anyone assumes, she is not white.

Society is never going to get anywhere if we don't listen to each other.
 Aug 2017 Summer Edmonds
Hannah
I found a picture of you today
buried beneath the clutter
of seven years of pain.
I remember when it was taken.
You were so full of life that day.
I swear your smile
could have led boats
back to the bay.
I remember your presence,
and the way it felt
to hold your attention.
Those eyes
a raging fire
with a crystal clarity
meant only for the divine.
I swear you hold secrets
between the walls of time.
I can still hear you
when I whisper your name
over the rolling waves
of the lake,
your final resting place.
I swear when I'm there,
I can feel your hand
on my shoulder,
comforting me,
like a warm summer rain
on a beautiful August day.
x
 Aug 2017 Summer Edmonds
Postman
Amidst poisonous purlieu
I'm up in the clouds
Dare I care not and
sail on my flight of fancy.
White patches of dull clouds
on the pale face of sky
envy my glow,
can figure not
the root of the flow.
Slaughterous suspicions
conspire to drown the ship
in recurring torrential rain.
Colourfully calm, I'm
under the blazing Sun. Others
would never know, love lies in
my core for guiding me
to the shore.
 Aug 2017 Summer Edmonds
Angharad
Stepping through into darkness
Street lights drowned out by solid silhouettes of trees
Distant stars brought closer
In awe of the dramatic beauty of the vast night sky
Feet still
Face upwards
Eyes drinking in the fullness of space
Blue light traces as shooting stars race
Vision made aware of bursts of incredible meteors
Moving through my universe
I would stay and drown for hours in the deep ocean of the stars
Glad to feel so small against something with no edge
Limitless mysterious infinity
The Perseids Meteor shower. Nature's theatre
 Aug 2017 Summer Edmonds
Jasmine
No use to fight the bloodshot eyes
Stained from the tears I cry
And Your love that is seeming to die

I sit

Light?
I need none,  just wanna feel a buzz


Yet nobody kills the high of your lust better than you
That pedestal I put you on has sky scraped my heart raw
Yet the pain keeps me wanting fix
Fistfuls of tears and hate we ****** at each other
Burning our trust
Til the smoke exhausts us
Time stops and forgiveness is brought
I love you’s and fantasies are from silent thoughts to passionate exchanges
We seal our soon to be broken promises with a kiss
A pattern so sweet my tongue can’t seem to keep itself off of you

The rain could never drown me, for I stand beneath you
My umbrella
Beholding patches
Exposing the brisk to my lips
Cheeks would be stained red if I was a shade of pale
Embarrassed,
To be seen trapped within this thing of sorts which you call love
A poem about being emotionally trapped in a toxic relationship
 Aug 2017 Summer Edmonds
Cné
Smile
 Aug 2017 Summer Edmonds
Cné
I hope that you will smile today
and give yourself a break.
A smile can be great medicine.
It helps when hearts might ache.

Perhaps, if you try hard enough,
the smile becomes a grin.
And when you've worn it long enough,
you'll feel it grow and then...

The grin becomes a chuckle
and it then becomes a laugh.
And everyone will wonder if
you've made a social gaffe.

For laughter is contagious
and it helps to get us through.
Here's hoping that today will bring
some happiness to you.
Your tongue speaks
The language of my lips
Fluently
 Aug 2017 Summer Edmonds
Sandoval
I tore down every bridge,
and every wall to let you in.

I dried lakes, rivers, oceans,
to save you from drowning.

I found myself,
draining in weakness to strengthen you.

You became powerful, you became immortal,
you became my god.

Now I clench onto this sadness of mine.
The loneliness you left behind.

Its the only thing that reminds me,
our story was once alive.

Its my safe place.
When you're gone,

and I need a muse to help
bleed all this pain out.

Like tonight,
when writing about the moon,
can no longer help me survive.


*Sandoval
To Drew..
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